Riven - Jerry B. Jenkins [165]
Guilty, guilty, guilty was all he could think. Was he going crazy? Would he try again to kill himself? And why was it Katie’s father and not Brady’s aunt Lois who had mentioned his burning in hell? Lois really believed that stuff, that there was a heaven and a hell and that good people went up and bad people went down.
I murdered someone, and I’m going to hell.
Brady realized that he could not kill himself. Even the supermax had to be better than hell. Killing himself would get him sent there only earlier. And now all of a sudden the three-year mark didn’t seem so far away either. Oh, he deserved it. He had never denied that. But what he feared would not come soon enough now seemed to be racing toward him.
Why hadn’t he listened to Jackie Kent and considered that the day might come when he would change his mind? Life in this place would be awful, but if there was a hell, he’d rather be here than there—regardless what he deserved.
He knew Carl and Lois were sincerely into this stuff, but he had always just endured their church and Sunday school and the stories and songs. It was all okay for them, sort of quaint. Lois was known as a bit of a religious wacko, even among her family and friends.
But could it be true? If it was, Brady was in deep, deep trouble, not just with the county and the state, but with the God of the universe Himself.
He dug through his induction packet again, though he had committed it to memory. That black-and-white picture of the plain, old-fashioned-looking, broad-faced older man, the Reverend Thomas Carey. He was the chaplain. And to arrange a visit with him, you had to fill out a form and submit it to the administrative offices. If the decision was positive and the inmate in good standing, the meeting would be scheduled. The first would be at your cell, and if the chaplain deemed it appropriate or necessary, subsequent meetings, each subject to the same permission request procedure, could be arranged in an isolation unit. There the inmate and the chaplain could sit on either side of a Plexiglas window and converse through an intercom.
Brady understood exactly why he had this sudden interest in a meeting with the chaplain, though he wasn’t sure he would want to say it aloud where other cons could hear. The bottom line was, he had to know. Was there any hope for a murderer?
57
Adamsville
It had been years—years—since Gladys had called Thomas Carey at home.
“Wanted to catch you before you left,” she said now. “I still don’t know what you have against cell phones, Reverend. I could have waited a few minutes and talked to you while you were driving.”
“It’s called a budget,” Thomas said, hoping she could hear the smile in his voice. Plus, cell phones didn’t work in the supermax with all the steel and concrete. And he wasn’t going to invest in a phone and monthly charges so he could be reached anywhere else.
“How’s your sweetheart this morning?”
“Still in remission,” he said. “Believe me, we’re enjoying it while it lasts.”
“I’m praying it lasts forever.”
“Thank you, but you didn’t call to tell me that. I’m on my way out the door.”
“You must have a long cord on that phone, then.”
“Funny.”
“I just thought you’d like to know whose request to see you has been approved and who you can visit whenever you want.”
“I’ll bite. Who?”
“Guess.”
“A Muslim. A Wiccan. A Buddhist. Worse than that? A satanist? Surely not someone interested in what I’m selling.”
“You never know, but you’re wrong on all counts.”
“Another one of those who’s invented his own religion and wants me to get it cleared with the state so he can, what, worship girlie magazines or something?”
Gladys cackled. “I’ll never forget that guy. Nope, believe it or not, it’s the Heiress Murderer.”
Thomas held his breath. The very one he had been praying for. The one with the vacant look. “He’s been with us ninety days already?”
“Last week. Yanno just signed